Haphazard bullet points…

… Last week when we were out running errands we stopped at Potbelly Sandwiches for dinner. The guy behind the counter asked if we had any exciting plans for the weekend—we didn’t—then he asked if we were planning on playing Grifball. At first I wasn’t sure if I’d heard him right. He couldn’t possibly have said Grifball could he? Nobody knows what Grifball is. At least nobody I’ve ever actually met.

See, I was wearing my Chupathingy shirt.

HE GOT THE REFERENCE.

A RED VERSUS BLUE FAN IN THE REAL WORLD WHO I AM NOT ALSO MARRIED TO.

Who knew they actually existed? I certainly did not.

… I’ve been monitoring my blood pressure for a week now. Every single reading has been terrible. At this point I’m wondering if the monitor is even reading correctly because the numbers don’t even make sense to me. My arm IS borderline too fat for the cuff so it’s possible it’s just not reading correctly. But usually too much fat just causes it to error out instead of giving an actual reading, so I really have no idea. Long story short, after I finish this post and my current playlist is done, I’m actually picking up the phone and making an appointment to actually go to the doctor and have this checked out because I’m sick of feeling like I’m going to die just from walking up the stairs or making the bed or taking a damn shower.

… In related news my anxiety is through the fucking roof right now because picking up a damn phone is one of the most stressful things I could possibly have to do with my day. It’s not even the fact that I’m making an appointment. It’s the act of MAKING A FUCKING PHONE CALL that sends me into a panic spiral. Once the appointment is made I have no problem going. It’s making a damn phone call that I can’t deal with.

… I’m going to see my mom today. I just saw her last weekend at my Ellie’s birthday party, but we made plans for me to go see her today. I need to visit and I need my hair done. And since we made actual plans, I’ll actually get out the door to see her. I am a terrible, terrible daughter.

… The prospect of making the drive to my parents’ house is also not helping the whole anxiety thing either. I hate that drive almost as much as I hate driving. And it’s a toss up of whether I hate driving or the phone more. They’re both pretty equal on the “Go Die In A Fire” scale.

… Also on the list for the impending doctor appointment: Anxiety and my inability to control it. Also, I’d like to address the bone-grinding-on-bone sensation after exercising, headaches that won’t die with any amount of drugs I choke down, and the phantom smoke stench that never goes away.

Fun times all around.

Excuse me while I start my Andy Grammer playlist over again to keep my brain from exploding.

After I make a fucking appointment that is.

Something to say?